Moments In Time
by McRaider
Summary: AU: the first time Mycroft met Greg Lestrade, they were 15 and 18 respectively, and neither one realized the journey they'd go on together. This is a my attempt at 365 days of Mystrade love, while also moving towards a series I want to write. I don't know if I'll actually get to 365 chapters but I'm gonna try! Crossposted at AO3
1. Chapter 1: The Day We First Met

A/N: So while these chapters are going to be drabbles (sorta I don't really do JUST 100 words or so), know that if you like a chapter I'll gladly expand on it per request! This is AU, and because I've got a fairly good idea of where I want to go with this story, it's plausible there may be a multitude of stories. The ultimate goal with this was to write it and get it out there first and foremost. Also, this is not Brit-picked, I try to do research and use the right words, please forgive me, and if you see something let me know I'm happy to correct it, I also accept brit-pick offers.I made a few changes, for starters I changed birthdays roughly, and I'll be updating the chapters later.

1965: Greg's born  
1968: Mycroft's born  
1973: John's born  
1975: Sherlock's born  
1977: Eurus is born (appx. 15 months after Sherlock)  
1982: Victor dies/Musgrave burns

Chapter One - The Day We First Met

September 1983

Mycroft was almost sixteen at the time, and at the behest of his mother would be spending his final year of senior school among fellow students, and he couldn't help but think he didn't quite fit in. For starters he was just about the only redhead in the school, and he was shorter than nearly everyone. Not to mention he was much smarter than all of them, if only mummy hadn't insisted he attend school with other children. Something about socializing better.

"Hey fatty, did you bring cupcakes for everyone!" one kid joked late in the day, while another shoved him into the wall, his stuff fell to the ground, and he felt his face grow bright red with shame as he knelt down to retrieve his items. He wished to comment on how trivial their statement was, it wasn't exactly a secret he was fat, but then comments like theirs never stopped hurting.

"Oi!" a voice snapped, and suddenly his new tormentors were dispersing. He glanced up to see another boy, perhaps closer to eighteen standing there, glaring at them before he knelt down beside Mycroft to help him.

"You didn't have to do that," Mycroft whispered, feeling horrified that he'd required defending, perhaps it wasn't a completely bad thing, but ultimately he knew it wouldn't bode well for later run ins when his new classmates didn't see his protector around.

The gravelly chuckle surprised him, and he glanced up to see spiked chestnut brown hair sticking out in every direction. Amused chocolate brown eyes studied him curiously and the smile on the boy's face was enough to make Mycroft's stomach flutter ever so slightly. He didn't fully understand what he was feeling, but it was most certainly unlike anything he'd ever felt before. "I know, but they're jerks. Come on then, I'm Greg, wha's you're name?" he asked.

The boy certainly wasn't good at proper English, based on how he spoke, and he didn't seem to sound like he originated from this part of England, but it was an olive branch for sure and Mycroft couldn't help but wonder how this would pan out. "Mycroft, Mycroft Holmes," he explained in a high pitched voice that hadn't quite cracked yet.

"I can teach you a thing or two, about defending yourself, if you'd like that is," Greg offered as they stood and he handed the last of his personal belongings.

Mycroft sighed, his face turning red again, "I think it's more to do with my portly appearance than my ability to defend myself," he muttered, feeling embarrassed. His brother always told him he was a whale. Clearly everyone thought so. He half expected this new boy he'd met to say the same.

"I think you look fine, besides, you haven't grown from the looks of it, my mum says boys don't have their major growth spurts til we're in our late teens. Just you watch, you'll be taller than all of 'em," he grinned. "Can I walk you to class?"

Mycroft, still not entirely sure what this boy's motive was, just nodded and together they headed in the direction of the their next class. Never realizing their relationship was the beginning of something much more.


	2. Chapter 2: Skeletons

Chapter Two: Skeletons

1979

For the past year, Mycroft Holmes had found himself a new best friend, it wasn't until he'd met Gregory Lestrade that he realized friendship was even an option. He'd never truly had a friend as a little boy, not like Sherlock had had Victor..well until a few months ago. Mycroft being nearly seven years older tended not to relate well to his younger siblings, he knew Sherlock loved him, and the boy who was now seven was full of love and affection for only his big brother, but aside from Sherlock's loving touch, Gregory was the only other person in the world who seemed to truly like spending time with Mycroft.

They'd spent nearly every weekend together since they'd first met a year ago, but for some reason, lately, it seemed like Gregory had been pulling away from him. At first, when it had begun nearly two months ago, he'd worried it was Gregory's way of telling him he didn't want to be friends anymore, but Gregory continued to assure him that was not the case. Then, for the last two weekends, Mycroft hadn't seen his friend at all.

So when Monday rolled around, he was more worried than anything about his Gregory, and as he neared the taller, older boy that morning, he realized it was with good reason. The boy in question, who was now sixteen and seemed to have tapered off around 180 cm or so, he was now tall and had filled out quite a bit as well. However, instead of his usual uniform, he wasn't wearing his blazer, it had been removed and he had a button down shirt, with his sleeves rolled up, and his left arm was sporting a bulky cast that went from his hand to his elbow.

Mycroft drew closer, walking around the boy, who's demeanor was usually much more upbeat and pleasant, to see sagged shoulders, and to Mycroft's horror, a deep black and blue bruises marring his handsome features, covering his left temple, and leaving a black eye as well.

"Gregory," Mycroft gasped as he drew near. Much like Gregory had suggested the previous year, he'd shot up nearly overnight between his thirteenth and fourteenth year, and was now about as tall as Gregory. He'd lost much of his fat as well, and was lean and lanky, which was mostly thanks to Gregory helping him train and eat better.

"Please don't," Greg whispered, his voice a mere shadow of it's usual self.

"But, what on earth happened?" Mycroft questioned.

"Nothing," the other boy replied as he shut his locker, he looked up, meeting Mycroft's beautiful pale blue eyes, and for the first time ever, all Mycroft saw was sadness. "Just got in the way."

Mycroft hesitated to ask if it was someone's fist, but he kept the question to himself, Gregory had always respected his privacy when it came to Eurus, so Gregory deserved the same respect. So, he just nodded and together the duo headed to class.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3: Please Don't Go

Chapter Three – Please Stay

1983

Mycroft didn't put much stock in people, if anything he viewed them more as a means to an end than anything. Unlike Sherlock, he was incapable to of caring for someone, or so he'd thought until he'd met Gregory Lestrade. Gregory had taken all of Mycroft's rules of engagement and chucked them right out the bloody window.

Where Mycroft expected hatred, Gregory offered only kindness, when Mycroft demanded seriousness, Gregory countered with playfulness. Where Mycroft expected to be used and then placed to the side, Gregory gave back twice as much. He was, simply put, the most glorious and genuine human being Mycroft had ever met.

It had been six months since they had met, and another two since Gregory had come to school with a broken arm and bruised face but had said nothing. Mycroft had respected the older boy's request not to talk about it. But now, headed into their final days of summer, and after seeing him non-stop for almost the entire summer, Mycroft hadn't seen or heard from his new friend in nearly a week and a half.

Mycroft couldn't help but worry about his friend, after all Gregory had taken his time repeatedly to support and show he was there for Mycroft, it was only fair to return the favor. Until the week he'd come to school with a broken arm, it seemed as though Greg was incapable of sorry and sadness.

While that became clearer in May, it was today that it all truly changed for Mycroft. Today was the day, looking back, that Mycroft realized he became as invested in Gregory as Gregory was in him. He drove to the simple house of a recently remarried single mother of three, and parked. He got out and knocked politely on the door, waiting.

He was greeted a few moments later by the woman he assumed was Katherine Lestrade-Moore, she was a beautiful woman, and Mycroft could see where her son got his good looks. "May I help you?" She asked him.

Mycroft studied her for a moment, she had dark circles under her eyes-she wasn't sleeping well. She was still wearing her wedding and engagement ring, so the issue wasn't being caused by her current husband, perhaps a child or ex-husband. "I'm here to see Gregory."

She pursed her lips for a moment, trying to clearly decide what to do, before nodding, and opening the door up wider for him to step inside, "You must be Mycroft, come in love. Maybe you can cheer him," she explained, before closing the front door and heading up the stairs directly across from the door.

Mycroft followed her, the door they stopped at was the first one to the right of the stair case at the top. She knocked briefly, before putting her head inside, "Lemme alone," a miserable mumble came from inside the room.

She poked her head inside, "No, I've let you mope for a week, darling. You need to deal with this," despite the firmness in her tone, Mycroft detected love and compassion as she opened the door, and let Mycroft into his room.

Again, Mycroft found himself speechless at the sight of Greg, who currently lay miserably on the bed. Instead of a single bruise there was large vicious hand print across his jaw and cheek, his lip had been split, his eye was blackened once more, and he had a bandage over the eye, that was just what Mycroft could see, from the looks of it and how Greg was moving, the damage extended to the rest of his body as well. "I can go," Mycroft offered, suddenly feeling as though he was intruding.

He almost missed Greg's request, "Please stay," he whispered.

Katherine smiled down at Mycroft, and surprised the boy when she pet the back of his head, "Go on, love. He could use a friend now, shall I make you some dinner?"

"Thank you," he replied as he stepped into the room and she closed the door for their privacy. Mycroft wondered how close he should come, if he should ask what had happened, if he had the right to ask such a question. They were friends, and Mycroft had told Greg of his sister Eurus, but this seemed different in a way. "I would ask if you're okay, but from the way you are moving, you have at least three fractured ribs, a sprained wrist, and perhaps an ankle."

"My da' doesn't like faggots," Greg whispered and to Mycroft's surprise a moment later the wonderful, kind hearted Gregory let tears drip down his face.

Mycroft knew what that word meant, but it was the first time he'd ever heard it directed as his dear friend. Some sort of unknown instinct kicked in and Mycroft crept toward the bed, and as carefully as he could, without hurting him any further, he wrapped his arms around Greg, one hand running through Greg's dark hair, and the other gently rubbing his belly.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Greg's unharmed temple. He was shocked when the older boy buried his face in Mycroft's neck and sobbed, openly and without fear. All Mycroft could do was hold on tight and tell him he would always be there.


	4. Chapter 4: Why

Chapter Four – Why?

August 1984

"Why did you go see him again, after he hit you the first time?" Mycroft questioned a few weeks later. Greg had perked up some since Mycroft had started visiting daily. The two would be headed their separate ways soon, Greg for London to join Scotland Yard and Mycroft to Oxford for University. Even now, as they packed up Greg's room, Mycroft feared what might happen if he didn't see Gregory again.

The older teen who had been busy going through some old paperwork and notebooks, paused and glanced up at his friend, as if seriously considering the question and his answer that would follow. Greg considered Mycroft's family as he thought about the best way to answer, finally settling on an example he spoke, "Do you still love Sherlock even when he calls you those horrible names? Or Eurus after she nearly destroyed your family?" He wasn't being mean, or pretentious, he was just trying to help Mycroft better understand how love worked, as it was clear the man had a very warped understanding of love.

Mycroft, for his credit, considered Greg's questions, first Sherlock. The boy, almost ten now, had changed significantly since Eurus had killed Victor Trevor. He was quiet, withdrawn and far less affectionate than he had been before the vicious drowning. Not that Sherlock recalled any of it, Mycroft suspected he had repressed the trauma. Sherlock had grown more volatile as well of late, snapping out at Mycroft every chance he got. Despite that, the urge to protect his younger sibling, to keep him safe and happy for as long as possible was utterly overwhelming. If that was love, then yes, he loved his baby brother dearly. Finally, he looked at Greg, who was patiently waiting for a response, "I imagine I do, yes. Though they certainly don't make it easy," he answered.

Greg chuckled at that and nodded, "Family rarely does," with a shrug, he reached over to his bedside table and handed Mycroft a picture frame. It was of Greg himself, perhaps seven or eight, in a rugby outfit, being held up by an older man, clearly his real father. "He's my da', Myc. He's the one who taught me how to play football, an' how to ride my bike. He used to tuck me in at night, and read me bedtime stories. He…he didn't used to be the man he is now, so cold and cruel," the last word was whispered as he looked back down at the picture Mycroft had returned.

"May I ask what changed?" Obviously they'd been a happy family once, Mrs. and Mr. Lestrade had three children, two older girls and their son Greg.

Greg shrugged once more, in a typical teenage fashion, "Me, I suppose. They started fighting before the divorce, and I used to hear it and get upset, so I would run away, get into all sorts of trouble. Not illegal of course, but trouble all the same. Eventually, they just split. I think that really changed him, shortly after he lost his job and started drinking. I imagine coupled with the disappointment that I had no desire to go to Uni and be a lawyer like him, didn't meet his expectations was sort of a blow to his ego."

Mycroft felt irritation at the elder Lestrade, before he moved over and sat down beside Greg, "I don't pretend to understand people, but from where I sit, it is not a child's responsibility to fulfill their parents' every expectation. Rather, to become the best man or woman they could be. You are not responsible for his failings, or the divorce, my friend."

The corner of Greg's lips quirked up as he nodded, and leaned his head against Mycroft's shoulder, "I know. I guess maybe I feel guilty, he has no one. Three kids and I'm the only one who still goes and see him."

Mycroft's heart ached at the idea that Greg didn't realize what a beautiful soul he had, "You are a good man, Gregory, perhaps better than me and certainly better than your father. Maybe one day he will see what a true gift you really are."

Greg was quiet for a moment, lost in his own thoughts, "Can we talk about something else now?" he asked, clearly a bit emotional and wanting to move on.

Mycroft nodded and stood to go back to the box he'd been packing, "Certainly, take your pick."

"How about the fact that you haven't eaten more than a piece of bread and some water in three days," Greg pointedly stared at the younger man, as if daring him to deny it.

"Gregory, sure you see that I am porous."

"No! I don't see that, and even if I did, starving yourself isn't the way to lose weight, Myc."

"Gregory, I am not athletic."

Greg stood, and grabbed one of Mycroft's hands, "I'll help you, I'll have to pass a physical exam anyway. Please, don't starve yourself anymore."

Mycroft looked at his friend, unable to resist the gorgeous dark brown eyes, he nodded, "Very well, what did you have in mind?" And that was how Mycroft Holmes found himself in a hideous track suit at five in the morning jogging beside his best friend. "I should note, I hate you," Mycroft whined.

"No you don't," Greg replied, jogging backwards in front of Mycroft, grinning wide, bringing out his adorable dimples.

"Well, I don't like you very much then."

"Nah, I think you love me!" he laughed before running ahead a bit. Leaving Mycroft to realize Gregory may have been right.


End file.
